an unkindness of ravens

trente-quatre

— trente-quatre ; thirty four —

ENDLESS EXY PRACTICES, classes piling on more and more assignments every day with mocks coming up, and too many night shifts at Matt's Bar was not a good combination with the little to no sleep Henri was getting. It didn't help that with December around the corner the weather was getting chillier than ever and he'd had a cold for days now. He looked like shit, he felt like shit, and he was always tired. He wanted nothing more than to take a day — or week — off where he just lay in bed but having a cough and a runny nose apparently wasn't a good enough excuse to take a sick day. As Soren so rudely reminded him every time he complained.

Speaking of Soren being rude, he chose moment to look up from his French textbook and spot Henri not working on his history homework. "That essay won't write itself," he said archly.

"I hate you," Henri retorted.

"Hate me while you're writing. I'm sure you can figure out how to multitask."

Henri glared at him but Soren had already turned his attention back to his own work. Telling the full truth to Soren had been a good thing to do. The right thing to do. He wasn't going to tell anyone else, obviously, and it meant there was nothing unspoken between them anymore. Henri didn't have to hide anything from him anymore. But the downside? Soren had gotten on his back about studying and keeping his grades, what with exams and the fact that Henri wouldn't be allowed to play if his GPA fell beneath a certain limit. Now Soren knew not playing would incur Inchirou's wrath and get Henri killed, possibly.

They were in the library during one of their free periods together before lunch and Soren was taking his tutor duties seriously. He didn't need to go over this topic with Henri, because it was one of the few that made sense, so he settled for watching him to make sure Henri actually did the essay due in tomorrow. He'd meant to finish it off last night, so he could spend this hour napping, but he'd been called for a last minute shift to Matt's bar. Soren told him to quit for the millionth time and Henri ignored him for the millionth time. He was getting pretty good at that, ignoring Soren.

Even though he might actually have a point. Henri over one grand in the bank account he'd recently set up and it's not like he was burning through the savings. He didn't even spend it. He could have quit now but it felt important to make as much as possible while he still could.

He hadn't mean to doze off. He'd glanced out of the window after writing a couple more lines about Hitler, watching rain trickle down the glass and blur out the grassy view. It was almost mesmerising watching the raindrops chasing each other down and he didn't look away even when his eyes began to grow heavy. Then he was suddenly startled awake by a loud bang and his heart kicked into overdrive at the gunshot. Only it wasn't a gun — it was Soren dropping his textbook on the table far too close to Henri's head.

"Asshole," Henri snapped, covering his mouth to cough. "What the hell was that for?"

"No napping until you finish the essay," Soren reminded him. "Why are you so tired, anyway?"

"I can't sleep," Henri muttered.

That wasn't strictly true. He was scared to sleep — scared of the things he'd see when he closed his eyes and scared he'd be woken up by another panic attack that made him certain he was dying. He hadn't had one since that first night but he found he was more anxious in general, just anticipating one.

Soren frowned. "Take sleeping pills."

"I don't know where I'd get them from and besides, what's the point?" He shrugged. "They don't stop nightmares."